


Crossing Subspace Bridges

by Itar94



Series: Building Neutron Stars [11]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, Alpha Rodney McKay, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Ascension, Building Neutron Stars: The John/Rodney Arc, Children of Characters, Dysfunctional Family, Email Correspondence, Episode: s03e08 McKay and Mrs. Miller, Episode: s03e12 Echoes, Episode: s03e14 Tao of Rodney, M/M, Mentions of miscarriage, Omega John Sheppard, Protective Ronon, Telepathy, alternative universe, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just don’t know what to do, John. I’m the smartest man in two galaxies and right now <i>I don’t know what to do.</i>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up right after [Finding a Planet to Call Ours](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1027291/chapters/2045336).

**Ascension**  /əˈsenʃ(ə)n/  
[noun]  
 _the rising into a higher plane of existence;  
_ _the act of breaking free from mortal chains_

Settling in again is wonderfully easy. The city has been fully repaired, except for some of the previously flooded areas that the Replicators hadn’t cared for. There is not a single dent in the walls of the gate room. Within a couple of weeks, things have returned to normal; people have been recalled or, in the case of a couple of scientists and some of the marines, replaced as they’ve found work elsewhere.

(Pegasus just isn’t for everyone, John supposes, but thinks about that conversation with General O’Neill so long ago, back in Antarctica when the sky was a hell lot smaller: _Why’d you become a pilot? - Because I think people who don’t want to fly are crazy. - And I think people who don’t want to go through the Stargate are equally as whacked._ )

* * *

Soon enough they have teams going off-world again and are reestablishing contacts with neighbours. They have visitors from New Athos, Jinto among them (as John had promised) along with some of his playmates who are not so little anymore. Teyla’s not-quite-but-almost mate, Kanaan, is with them too (she claims their relationship is complicated, and John is pretty sure he knows what she means) along with a cousin of Halling’s and the elders take time with Elizabeth to renew their trading agreements while John takes an afternoon to show Jinto and the kids the jumpers, letting them hop on a ride in low geosynchronous orbit around the planet.

It doesn’t take long before Rodney’s lab is once again a mess of computers and coffee cups and the various odd Ancient item nobody has labeled yet. Their quarters are once again home, and it feels like they haven’t left at all. Like those torturous, long weeks on Earth had been a dream, a nightmare, a hallucination that’s started to fade.

* * *

Then it _was_ quite real after all, proven true when he gets an unexpected email from Dave. It’s short, succinct, hesitant in wording, quite formal. And John realizes that the man is trying and he’s not stupid enough to ignore that. But, what should he respond? What could he say? There is little they have in common. And it’s not like he can describe Atlantis, how it is to be home, that they went to M7G-677 just the other day to check up on the kids there (Keras is now father of two daughters and immensely proud to be twenty-seven years old). He can’t tell Dave about how they’ve already started running into the Wraith again, that there is the constant threat of being attacked by dozens of hives and have life sucked out of you by a white hand. He can’t tell Dave how beautiful Atlantis is, how different the stars are here, that he’s flying spaceships.

In the end he puts something together about the joy of being home ( _because this is home,_ he writes: _this is the best base he’s ever been on_ ) and that _if you wants it, we can send a photo of Marie, you know_ (he still has that photo of Dave and his wife packed down somewhere), and asking about Dave’s wife, their father, how the business is going. It’s all terribly stilted and cliché, but it is a beginning. Maybe things _can_ change. There is hope now, and John will embrace it (even if with some hesitation and uncertainty).

* * *

It’s good to be back. More than good. It is familiar, stepping through the gate from mission to mission. To share dinner in the glow of the setting Lantean sun. He’s really missed the wind, the smell of the ocean, the lulling sound of water from the waves and little fountains spread around the city. The walls are humming gently, the lights so bright, as if the city herself is smiling.

* * *

Three weeks after reclaiming the city they take an afternoon off, the whole team. Teyla is off to see New Athos and Kanaan; Heightmeyer offers to babysit Marie for the day (delving for a moment into explaining the need for mates to have some child-free time, before Rodney had just cut her off with:  _Yes, yes, exactly my point_ ). There is a board that’s been lying silently in their room for the past two years and now John insists on getting a chance to try some of the sweet waves by the mainland; there are endless miles of untouched coastline, of beautifully white, if a little rough and rocky, sand. And the day is bright and sunny. It is a perfect day. Rodney grumbles for a bit, naturally, but brightens when Radek decides it’s perfect to test some Ancient machine that’s meant to look into the dielectric permittivity of the region’s subsurface, whatever that means. (And quite possibly he says yes after John models the shorts he’ll be wearing.)

And Ronon wants to hunt, the Satedan comes along too. At some point Lorne manages to get the day off as well, and John is pretty sure he knows what is tempting him even if Rodney has no clue whatsoever (because the love lives of his staff doesn’t exist on his priority list of Things To Know). Quite the odd family outing. No, the perfect family outing, John quickly amends. Who knows when the next time they’ll have a breather?

Besides, he’s pretty sure Rodney won’t mind seeing him get all wet and sweaty.

* * *

As predicted, he doesn’t. He doesn’t mind at all, though he does glare at everyone else present until Radek busies himself with the machine - Rodney sort of helps out to start with but returns to the beach pretty soon, coated in god knows how many layers of homemade sunscreen, to sit on a blanket, reading a datapad and munching on a sandwich while John wades into the water. Ronon fixes a campfire. He’ll return with some game, if he catches any - they’ve got food otherwise, so that won’t be a problem. The ocean waves are soothing on his ears but even from here John can hear the humming noises from the Ancient machinery. He’s not sure of interested Lorne really is in the science stuff, but he hangs around Radek anyway. Evening comes, eventually, the sunset gorgeous from this view. Rodney’s complaining about the sand stuck in-between his toes trails off as John wades ashore, hair plastered to his forehead but still managing to stick in all directions, and Ronon smirks broadly at the obvious way the astrophysicist is salivating.

Lorne and Radek claim the camping tent they’d brought, and John isn’t sure how much testing is going to be done for the remainder of the evening. Then, well, he doesn’t linger on it as they close the jumper hatch, though he catches a yell fading into the distance (probably Ronon as he rushes into the woods to try hunting again): “Nowhere we’re gonna sit on the way back!”

* * *

One way back, though, Ronon does not smile in any manner. Arms crossed he’s glaring vividly at the opposite wall, like he would at an attacker or a Wraith. “If there was any game it was all scared off by the noise that stupid machine made.”

Rodney might have been on his way to say something along the lines of _Well, we heard nothing,_ but John kicks him in the shin with a look; a jumper is rather well-isolated. Besides, they were - preoccupied.

“Look, I said I was sorry! It was necessary for the tests,” Radek says adamantly. He glances at Lorne, who’s smiling fondly, an unusually unguarded expression. “He was like that all night, you know,” the Czech informs the Colonel. “Very agitated. Had me scared.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” John says with a smile. “He’ll be all right as soon as we get home, get him some food, a warm bath ...”

Then, suddenly, Rodney cries out -“Wait!”

On instinct John is already on the brakes and thinking up a hundred possible scenarios and how to overcome them; but he reads no immediate danger from the HUD, the instruments are behaving fine under his hands, there is no off chord in the harmony in his mind. They aren’t losing altitude. Then. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Atlantis? The readings indicate it should be right ... Wait. There’s some kind of glitch in the navigational system,” Rodney says, humming at the back of his throat. “Adjust your heading forty degrees south.”

And there is appears at the corner of the windscreen, towers gleaming in the brilliant sun. “That’s odd,” Radek remarks.

“ _Of course_ it’s odd.” There’s that edge to Rodney’s voice indicating that an argument is imminent, and John rolls his eyes.

“Boys, do I have to pull this thing over?”

* * *

They don’t know it yet, but it is the beginning of a much bigger issue. They don’t realize this until Teyla ends up in the infirmary, claiming to see ghosts.  
Fear claws inside John for a moment, thinking about the possibilities. But no, Carson assures them, there is nothing wrong. She is not hallucinating; there is no sign of such neural activity. There is no sign at _all_ of anything amiss during the scans, but people don’t see things out of the blue.

Then Rodney spots the whales (that are not really whales, but rather big fish) and Rodney has some weird fascination with them. Probably because one of them led Lorne and Radek to their downed jumper last year. To begin with John isn’t too weirded out, well, at least until Rodney begins _naming_ them. Seriously. He’s not sure if he should just smile fondly or be annoyed.

* * *

They’re circling the city. Two of them, at first. A baby and a mother it looks like. And though he’s not that fascinated by them, he can tell Rodney is. So he grabs him on the way to lunch the following day. “Hey, you want to check it out?”

After all, they won’t be _that_ deep under water.

* * *

Barely half an hour later, the whales are trying to cut them off from getting away from them, or the navigations are off again. And John feels the sudden blossoming of a sharp headache behind his eyes, making it even more difficult to move out of reach of the big fish. But his pulse doesn’t begin to rise until Rodney collapses in the co-pilot seat, ears and nose bleeding, and as Elizabeth’s worry reaches an octave he dully realizes that there’s blood trickling down his neck slowly, a sharp pain in his ears. Her voice, even in the radio, sounds very far-away like somebody has put a lid on it.

They break out of the water with a rush, the jumper transitioning beautifully from ocean to air. But John pays no heed to this, piloting on automatic. Rodney still hasn’t stirred, and there is blackness moving in front of his vision also, making it a little blurry.

* * *

He spends the following three hours nearly deaf. Rodney spends longer than that, though, he’s pretty sure, because he doesn’t react to any words at all, not even the threat of Zelenka being smarter than him. The alpha is too occupied seeking answers in the Ancient database.

* * *

The problem, they realize almost too late - when there has been one death and half the people on base are in the infirmary either in the city or on the Daedalus - isn’t the whales.  
It’s the sun. And that is much, much worse.

* * *

“Do you have any idea how close we’re got to be to the sun for this to work?”

“I’m guessing pretty close.”

“ _Suicidally close._ Look,” he grabs a datapad and begins drawing on it frantically; “this, this is us. And this is the sun. A bolt of energy unlike anything you could possibly comprehend is going to shoot out of the photosphere at a tremendous velocity. It’s immediately gonna start fanning out, like so.”

“So we have to be really close, thus taking the ZPM to boost the Daedalus’ shields.”

“John, _listen_ -”

But he is going to save Atlantis. Save its people, Teyla, Ronon, Marie, Elizabeth. He _has_ to; and Rodney has to understand.

He taps his earpiece. “Colonel Caldwell, we’re ready.”

* * *

And Rodney is angry and disbelieving. John can forgive that. He can also forgive any further yelling and berating once they pull out of this alive.

“It’s over,” Rodney breathes in relief and shock as the radiation dissipates, never having reached Lantea. “It’s over and we’re not toast!”

“Good plan, huh?”

* * *

He ends up sending a second email that night (though it will be batched together with the previous one during the weekly dial-up via Midway). It just feels fitting, and with the relief and fading adrenaline rushing through his blood from their latest unlikely survival, he finds the words flowing out of him more easily.

 _Hi Dave,_ it reads, it’s me again. _There was an incident recently that could have wiped out this base, but it was averted, thankfully. Just wanted to say I’m still alive. There is little detail I can give you without clearance, but, well, it was a pretty big event, on the tip of the scale of natural disasters. Thankfully it shouldn’t happen again in another 15,000 years or so. Other than that it’s been a pretty uneventful week._

He adds, rewrites and removes (several times) something along the lines of, _For all the danger here there are some things I’d liked to have shown you one day,_ but he can’t find a good way to phrase it and just leaves the idea blank.

 _Anyway, I hope all is well on your side of the world_ (and as he writes this he smiles a bit, knowing his brother will never understand the humour in that statement). _McKay sends greetings_ (though that isn’t entirely true, it doesn’t matter).

_John_

* * *

The reply won’t come for at least another week (and who knows what’s happened then?), and things can change quickly here. When it comes, they’ve explored two new planets, basically described in the database as uninhabited since forever. One turns out to be just that. The other has become a Wraith base, with two large hives settled down there at the moment - they are quick to return through the gate then. No ZPMs to be found (Rodney is still pestering Elizabeth about the three they recovered since the Asuran attack; they’ve only been allowed to keep one, much to the alpha’s chagrin, even if they can raise the shield and dial Earth with it), sadly, though there were some ruins on the first planet to indicate that briefly a society lived here, perhaps after the Ancients, only to be wiped out by the Wraith. The anthropologists are fascinated, at least.

* * *

_Hello John,_

(at least there’s a difference from the last message which had begun with ’Lt. Colonel’, and ended much the same)

_It’s good to hear that you are well. Though I don’t really know what kind of disaster would happen only every fifteen thousand years, I am glad you have avoided it._

After a few stilted uncertain sentences, not about the weather but the equivalent of an easy subject, his brother goes on:  _The house is surprisingly ... empty_ (and here John pauses in surprise, because he doesn’t expect the following words at all) _without you and Dr McKay; your visit was unexpected, but brought what you may call a breeze to the mansion._

 _I fear, I am afraid, Laura will demand that you return someday with your daughter. She_ (and here it seems Dave must have pauses, hesitated, rewritten and John isn’t sure how much he wants to know anyway, remembering the visit. How Dave’s wife had looked at them as he’d pushed Marie around in the old pram, recalling how his brother told him they never had had children, how they were never able to) _is talking about adoption. I’m not sure how to address it_  (John’s pretty sure he means: _I’m not sure I want to_ ).

_Perhaps you can’t give my any advice, but I ask all the same. Your situation is rather - unique. (Huh. Oddly kindly worded. Not what their father would have said.) You never spoke of other children where you are stationed anyway. I didn’t think such a thing was possible. But you spoke of natives, when you visited. Are you intermingling?_

_Anyway, I mean not to bother you. Please send my regards to Dr McKay._

_And Laura would greatly appreciate photographs._

_Dave_

* * *

Then Colonel Carter sends an urgent message.

Apparently Rodney’s sister has made a huge discovery - or, as Rodney puts it: _What’s she done now?_

Just a few hours within finding out the alpha has already packed and is moving toward the wormhole to Earth. The SGC want him to return at once. In hindsight, John thinks they may be lucky to get a few more hours together before the Stargate shuts down. Then the wormhole ends far too quickly and John finds himself staring at the empty gate, wordless, hands empty.

Rodney had awkwardly kissed him goodbye on the doorstep to their quarters.

Midway isn’t complete yet and he’d taken no jumper back. So it’ll be with the Daedalus he returns. Far too many weeks - John has already started counting the hours.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _You can watch a sort of trailer to this fanfic series_ [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1387138/chapters/2912227). _I made the video a while ago but just decided to upload it._

Rodney has been gone from Atlantis for just about a week and it’s already too cold and silent without him.

He’s so very pathetic, John realizes, when less than a month of separation causes him to hurt this much, creating this unnatural hollow ache in his ribcage, causing his breath to catch sharply in his throat, making it sometimes difficult to look into people’s eyes and speak steadily. But being the military CO with a lot going on right now he can’t just follow, and besides he’s not fond of being stuck on the Daedalus for three weeks when all Rodney and his sister will be doing is talking numbers, and to be fair John would only prove a distraction (to Rodney, that is). The latter part is not John’s exact choice of words albeit it’s probably true and he’s glad Elizabeth rephrased that for the brass to hear; they’re all more pleased with him staying in the city, keeping an eye up for things to make sure there’ll be a city for the alpha to return to. Plus, had he returned, the IOA would probably have jumped at the chance to grill him in fifteen-hour-long conferences between grey concrete walls.

But still, if he could throw away all daily duties and pack a duffel bag and hurl himself through the gate to follow Rodney’s footsteps, he’d do so without hesitation.

* * *

With the next dial-up he sends a bunch of emails. One is addressed to his brother, again. There’s an attached picture taken by Chuck. It’s nondescript enough to pass the censure and disclosure agreements; his team sharing a meal on one of the balconies along with Marie sitting in a high chair (face smeared with some banana mush they’d tried to make her eat), and the angle allows a good view of a large ocean but no spires or towers in the background. He’s already okayed it with Weir; Dave, or anyone else seeing it, wouldn’t be able to glean facts like it’s been taken in another galaxy from it.

 _This is my daughter and my team,_ he writes and pride fills him with each word and he loathes he cannot tell much about them, cannot tell Dave just the amazing things they’ve done, why he trusts them all so much.

 _Ronon; he’s the big guy, and Teyla; awesome fighter. Can kick ass real bad. Both of them are natives to this place._ (Well, if ’place’ means another galaxy.) _Rodney you’ve met, of course. I trust them all with my life and with the life of Marie. Ronon is sort of Marie’s godfather._ (Because if anything happens to either him or Rodney, the Satedan will take her under his wing as he is John’s self-proclaimed Guardian, but he can’t exactly discuss alien cultures with his brother). _Teyla and her people were the first people we befriended when coming here about two years ago, and her people have proved very valuable for us. We’re kind of far out, you can probably tell by our irregular contact, so we trade a lot with native communities for food and stuff. Ronon comes from another community_ (he nearly stumbles, nearly writes _planet_ there because it’s so natural now to say such things. It’s difficult to suddenly speak as if Earth is the only world with sentient life in existence). _We met him a year ago. Saved his life, actually. He was being hunted by_ (again wording is hard because he wants to pour much more anger and hatred into the simple word) _the enemy, but we sort of freed him, and he’s now saved us lots of times. Rodney, well, he’s pretty important for survival too. With him around things get much better._

He almost adds, _Right now Rodney’s not here,_ but he doesn’t. He doesn’t need questions or more reminders.

Instead he writes:

_They’ve become family._

* * *

Rodney has been gone from Atlantis for two weeks.

Their room, the nursery, the lab - every single corridor is far, _far_ too silent, and John’s eardrums never quite get used to it. The scent of his mate in their quarters is slowly dwindling, overtaken by his own and that of his daughter and the warm ocean wind rippling through the windows and balcony doors, both of which are remaining almost constantly half-open during the pleasant Lantean summer. Marie fusses more than usual, without a doubt aware that there’s something missing, and getting her to stay calm with her babysitters is constant work because she cries and cries, her small lungs unimaginably strong, every time John leaves the city with the team - even Lorne who’s very fond of kids tries to shy away from offering the help. Having Radek is on it is pretty much out of the question, the Czech is busy running two departments at once. On the other hand Atlantis is a big base and there is always some alternative; if Heightmeyer doesn’t have the time, Elizabeth has occasionally taken the girl with her to her office during the day, and Marie likes her a lot so it works out.

But still.

Their missions are very silent too; they have new-come Staff Sergeant Mason standing in while the alpha is unavailable so they’ll still be numbered four and this gives the new guy some true training in the field. Still, the man, who’s just been in the city for little under a month having arrived with the last shipment from the Daedalus, doesn’t function as seamlessly within the première team; he doesn’t wholly understand their dynamic and ways (or realize how often they get dragged into trouble). John isn’t at ease.

(Rodney had better hurry up.)

On the upside they don’t run into any major troubles offworld. They manage to settle a trading deal with a farming town on M2X-392 which also appears to be nearing an industrial revolution and so they’ll keep an extra eye on that world because the Wraith probably might as well, since they don’t like technological advances in any way or form. They’ll avoid a culling if they can help it - but the planet has no ZPMs, no force fields, no shields. If the Wraith come, there will be little to do but run and hide and abandon the settlements, like on so many other worlds.

(So much wasted death.)

* * *

His morning runs with Ronon are almost never-ending. He doesn’t want them to end too soon. The burn in his calves is soothing to his soul.

One time he actually manages to beat Teyla at sparring, felling her with a swift blow at her left leg. Afterward, their forehead resting against one another in the familiar gesture, she praises him warmly. It feels more genuine than any praise ever received by any previous tutors in any subject.

* * *

It’s almost on automatic, how he walks down to the labs - but Rodney isn’t there. He knows that, still, he cannot help himself. All the boards and computers that Rodney always use have been left untouched; not even Radek dares to interfere with the calculations. But the labs are right next to the nursery and sometimes, while Marie is amusing herself with one of the beautifully crafted Athosian toys, John will look at the boards, spot a tiny error, something that should be inverted perhaps and correct it. It will give Rodney less worries when he returns. His head is now full with other numbers - the bridge invented by his sister.

(John wonders how badly it will end. If it really will work out. There are almost always complications.)

* * *

Dave answers in little bits (there are formal things in-between that John doesn’t care for).

_Laura was very happy about the photo. I hope you do not mind it has been added to the albums._

Also, _Your base is very distant, I suppose. The ocean looks gorgeous though. I understand you cannot tell me where you are because of disclosure agreements and such, or even how long you will be gone, but I hope you will return and visit someday._ (Maybe. But Rodney will complain, John thinks, he will complain a lot. There is nothing they have in common. John has no desire to return to his father’s estate, its cold halls. But he can understand why Dave is trying - it is the only home he has. If he could, one day, he might have liked to show Dave Atlantis. But that will of course never happen.) _Things can be mended. You must know, John, that father is not angry. Upset, maybe, but not angry._ (That has to be a lie.) _He is really proud of Marie (but,_ are the unspoken words, _not that you had her_ ; he isn’t proud of the fact that his only grandchild was borne by the runaway son.)

 _Your team seems like good people. I’m glad you are in safe hands. God knows you need it. You were always so reckless._ (At this John chuckles, _oh you don’t even know the half of it._ Rodney always keeps reminding him.)

 _I never congratulated you about your daughter_ (never got the chance, it means and John smiles wryly, for how could he had known Dave would have wanted to know? How could he had called to tell him about the birth from within the walls of the Sanctuary?), _but I hope you can accept it now._

Then - a line that makes him falter. _Father is thinking of including your daughter in his will. I know this will come as a shock to you. If you have objections, you should tell us._

 _He regrets a lot of things, John. Truth to be told, I don’t think he ever_ (and there is it again: he’s certain Dave hesitated here, maybe looked over his shoulder, unsure if he should include it) _forgot the fight._

* * *

He doesn’t know how to reply to that. Part of him is shocked into stillness. Another - angry. Furious. His father had shut the door for him the moment John had announced he was throwing away all the plans they had made for him, that he was going to join the Air Force, that he wouldn’t let them arrange some marriage for him. In that moment all bonds had cut and he’d thought Patrick Sheppard would never want anything to do with him anymore. But apparently not. Not now. Not when Marie is here.

Perhaps, he figures, it’s because Dave doesn’t have any kids. There are no heirs to carry on the name and the business. And Patrick Sheppard had taken over the business from his father, and he from his; it might be upsetting him to break the line. And so, Marie is the anchor. The safe key.

John just doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to bind Marie to the business and the estate, to the Earth. He wants to give her Atlantis instead. But he can’t write that to his father - cannot tell him _She doesn’t need you or your money,_ because, maybe one day - maybe one day there might be nothing left. Maybe one day the Wraith will have conquered this galaxy and sunk the city, and then Marie will have nowhere else to go.

He doesn’t want the money. he never has. He bets Dave thinks he’s returned just because now, now he has a daughter and now his father is growing old and one day soon he will be gone, and then Dave will think he’ll fight tooth and nail to get his share of the gold. Nothing could be more wrong, but he’s tired of arguing.

They have argued half their lives.

And so he lets the answer wait for a while, as the Daedalus slowly makes its way home. Once Rodney is back, maybe then he will know what to say.

* * *

He knows that Rodney’s managed to get his sister to sign the disclosure agreement and they’re on their way Atlantis via the Daedalus; they should be back within a little over a week, two tops. As soon as they’re within subspace communications range, he’ll send a video message - Rodney will be busy working on whatever theory that his sister’s come up with, perfecting it (John is unsure of all the details yet) so that Radek can realize the drafts. The alpha is going to need a break. Marie will be overjoyed to see her dad even if it’s just through a slightly pixelated video.

* * *

It’s nearing midnight on Atlantis when he settles on one of the large comfy chairs that might possibly have been smuggled from one of the abandoned areas of the city to their quarters, setting up a computer on the desk which is unusually empty without Rodney there. When he begins to send the transmission - the frequency is private, as he’s asked permission from Elizabeth and Caldwell - and the static breaks up into a somewhat clear image, the first thing he sees of Rodney for weeks is his half-turned back. He’s wearing that orange fleece and now it looks too large on his frame, compared to the first time they met. The alpha is making wide gestures, voice loud, seemingly unaware of the camera even if he must have been told by Caldwell that they’re in range.

“...and that variable isn’t even - oh! John!”

“Hi Rodney. Mrs Miller. It’s good to see you," he adds, waving at the figure in the background. The woman’s hair is pulled back in a thick ponytail and she’s busy writing on one of the papers spread over the table. John can’t actually see the polished metal surface itself, just the datapads and keyboards and numerous coffee cups (mostly empty) strewn across it. Rodney looks like he has skipped sleep for two nights in a row, and he sounds (more than usual) cranky too.

“How’s it going, kids?" he asks, bumping Marie gently on his knee. The girl squeals with delight. Currently she’s imitating flight with a miniature puddlejumper, enthusiastically making engine noises.

“Ah. It’s going extremely slowly because _certain people_ are distracted by a simple trip through subspace as though she hadn’t fathomed it _existed_...” - “Meredith!” Rodney’s sister exclaims. - “But we’re getting there,” the alpha finishes.

“Nice to hear. Radek’s going to be ecstatic for sure.” His mate does something between a frown and an eye-roll at that, causing the omega to grin.

“How are things back home?” Rodney asks. “Are they doing their job?” and by _they,_ of course, he means the scientists in his department.

“Oh, things are going well. Nothing’s blown up and we’ve settled some trading agreements with M2X-392. They’ve got beans that are nearly like coffee; you’ll like them.”

It’s not the almost-coffee-beans that his lover latches on to, surprisingly. Or the fact that his scientists can work without him to babysit them. “We - you did? I mean,” Rodney says, halting his fiddling with the datapad before him, filled with numbers, “I mean, you’re going on missions then? The team?”

“Yeah,” John confirms and quirks a small smile; “though there was this incident where the Sergeant standing in your place nearly got eaten by the local flora on a small uninhabited moon we explored.”

“Eaten by a flower? _Of course_ a marine nearly got eaten by a flower. Didn’t the guy pay heed to the ’don’t touch anything on a foreign planet without having an expert look at it first’ rule? I mean that clearly applies to plants too, not just tech, even if botany isn’t really a science,” Rodney rambles on, stabbing at the datapad in his hands now and then, multi-tasking as he often does. “Did you find anything else there? Any sign of the Ancients?”

“Not really any sign of any civilization whatsoever, past or current, which is a pity. We could’ve used a new weapon against the Wraith.”

“No kidding.”

But maybe, if they get this to work, they could get one. Maybe. Hopefully. With more power they would get new options.

He slightly shifts in the chair, letting his gaze wander for a moment from his lover’s face to all the stuff on the table before him, filled with numbers and figures he cannot see from this angle. “How’s it for you two then? All easy, no bickering?”

“Oh, everything’s fine here,” Mrs Miller fills in but is that a sharp look she sends her brother? Ah, well. He understands, he thinks; after all, he can’t even imagine his brother would ever listen to him if he tried to convince him to work on a top secret project in another galaxy after not speaking to each other for years. All of their talk aboard the craft can’t have been amiable, and John’s glad not to be standing between them. “I’m looking forward to seeing Atlantis - I mean, it’s a city in whole other galaxy! How many people get that kind of a chance? I still can’t quite believe what Mer’s gotten himself into ...”

Then she shakes herself slightly, training off, and smiles pleasantly through the lens aiming her gaze at the girl in John’s lap. “How are you, John? I mean, I haven’t spoken to either of you since your surprise visit and that was so long ago. And Marie,” Jeannie hesitates slightly on the name as if Rodney hasn’t talked about her much and she hasn’t had a chance to memorize it, and John frowns for a fraction of a second at that - but Rodney’s been busy. Yeah. That’s it. John forces himself not to feel the sudden knot at the base of his stomach. “She’s really grown. When we met she can’t have been much older than seven months.”

“Yeah. Nine months now.”

 _Nine months._ Part of him can’t believe it’s already been that long (since the Sanctuary. Since. And so much has happened. So much _didn’t_ happen).

“Yes, well, grow is what kids tend to do,” Rodney fills in sarcastically; his sister ignores him.

“Hey, sweetie,” John murmurs to the girl, momentarily distracting her from her mini-jumper. “Papa’s here; you want to say hello?”

The nine-month-old looks at the screen and beams like a living ray of sunshine and then waves the toy in her hand ardently to show it off (as if Rodney hasn’t seen it before, being the one who built it out of scrap parts), causing her small pigtails to jiggle. Her hair has grown a lot as well during the last few months and John figures they ought to cut it soon; play time is easier without it in the way, but he’s not sure if he dares to a have a pair of scissors anywhere near her (maybe Carson could help out) - anyway, that’s for later thoughts, and he’s done his best keeping it out of her face for now with his dubious braiding skills.

“Papa!” she squeals. “Jummer fly.”

“That’s very good, that’s what they’re meant to do,” Rodney agrees (actually not sounding like he’s talking to an idiot or a child but to a clever adult; certainly a difference in how he speaks to most of the scientists in his department) and John lets out a small laugh - god, _it feels good to laugh_ \- at his lover’s expression, a curious cross between adoring and annoyed. “But you see at that velocity, relatively speaking, and angle, with those tight turns, I doubt even Fly Boy of Wonders over there could keep her flying for very long, and even with the inertial dampeners -” And John rolls his eyes with a smile as his mate goes on.

“Mer, _honestly,_ she’s not even a year old, you can’t explain physics and aerodynamics to her yet,” Jeannie sighs at the same time as John lets out a warm laugh - that’s his Rodney all right, and to be close to him even for a second through a subspace link is making his heart lighter.

Just a week left.

_Soon he’ll be home._

“Her vocabulary’s growing by the day, she’s a really fast learner,” John adds. “Apparently she’s picked up your use of calling Ronon ’Conan’. Well, he doesn’t mind all that much, I think.”

Rodney glows with pride. “Really? She didn’t when I left. What about the algorithms yet, have you kept up those lessons? ’Cause they’re very important, we’ve got to start early to make her a proper genius.”

“Nine _months,_ Meredith,” his sister cuts in again from across the table, and there’s the scratching noise of a pencil against paper. “Not nine years.”

John suppresses a smirk. “Don’t worry, her IQ is probably as high as it gets with her genes. She likes watching Radek working in the lab so, who knows, maybe she’s picking up something.”

The alpha sounds vaguely horrified. “Zelenka?”

Jeannie scowls admonishingly at the despairing tone he’d used. “ _Meredith!”_

“Okay, fine, he’s ... not that much of an idiot. Speaking of which, we’re sending the data now and he has to get started right away, this is _important,_ not a minute to waste.”

“They’re already on it,” John says calmingly. “As soon as you got in range they received your transmissions and got to work, midnight and all.”

“Right, time zones.” Rodney briefly glances at his wrist, at the thick watch there which would have been useless if not for their clever readjustments of them so they showed Atlantis’ time, according to the zone of the planet that the city was placed in. This of course meant they’d had to take it apart and give it a new clock face with twenty-six Lantean hours; only key personnel have such watches. “Hey, shouldn’t she be asleep like four hours ago?”

“She’s not seen her dad for weeks, Rodney, John drawls. Relief floods him when hearing the concerned tone in his mate’s words, that knot of tension that had formed in his gut earlier during their conversation relaxing: Rodney hasn’t stopped thinking about Marie, not for a minute. “One late night won’t hurt, and I’ve got no mission tomorrow so no early morning for either of us.”

“How nice for you. Here we got actual _work_ to do.”

“I’m wishing you all luck.”

“You sure you don’t want to pinch in? I could send over a couple of calculations; I mean, another set of eyes would be useful -”

Jeannie looks a bit surprised at that and John doesn’t blame her. Her brother _asking_ for help? Openly? _Really?_ And to an Air Force person, even if it’s his mate? That sort of thing never happens when it comes to Rodney McKay. But John, though he’s smirking, shakes his head.

“I’m sure you two got it handled.” Besides, he knows the purpose of their idea - a matter bridge, they called it. It reminds him too much of Arcturus - so long ago - for him to want to touch it. Not now. Not ever, if he can help it. He only hopes that Jeannie being there can change the outcome to something better than last time. “Besides, no missions mean I’ve actually got time to spar and stuff. Maybe even golf some.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re marathon sparring with Teyla again. Last time that happened you nearly broke your nose! And I like your nose as it is. Unbroken and nice.”

“I’ve got to keep in shape, Rodney.” And he doesn’t mention it but he still doesn't feel quite as fit as before he had Marie, even if he’s been lucky in that aspect; he knows that not all people are, that there are sometimes complications -

\- and unbidden and unwanted he remembers again, remembers the hallucination machine on M1B-129, the disaster, all that he’s wanted to forget - and he has to blink for a moment, sharply avert his gaze from the camera and pretend to readjust Marie on his knee, swallow harshly, struggle to breathe.

“Anyway,” he rushes on, quickly, hoping neither of the siblings notices the slight delay, that miniature hitch in his breath. “We’re both going to be busy.” But his throat is all tight now and he is out of words. God, god, not now, he can’t have some fucking _breakdown_ now just because he happened to remember M1B-129 for a fraction of a second.

He hasn’t thought about it - remembered, _cried_ \- for weeks. And he’s been relieved and started relaxing again, letting his guard down, cracks forming in his shell.

Then Marie suddenly drops the toy with a frown and yawns wide, and he grabs the opportunity at once to wrap this up. “Dada,” she murmurs, reaching out to grab hold of his collar.

“Looks like I’ve got to put her to bed. See you later Rodney, Jeannie,” he remembers to call her by the name she prefers, and inclines his head at them.

“Yes, yes, I’ll send a transmission tomorrow night. A bit earlier. 20:00 hours good?”

“That’s fine,” John nods quickly, thrumming the thumb of his right free hand against the desk, itching to shut down the computer so that there will be no risks of being detected if his shell breaks down wholly. He chokes a little on the words. “Night, Rodney. Wanna say goodbye to daddy, sweetie?”

Without really focusing on the screen the girl says, “Bye bye, papa!” and clings harder to John’s shirt, dangerously close to whining in tiredness. Without conscious thought John has the lights in the room dimmed and softened around the edges, and faintly he hears the click of doors being locked.

Once the connection is cut John lets out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he’s been holding until now. Swiftly he settles Marie in, glad to have thought of having her changed and her teeth brushed beforehand, and she falls asleep rapidly as he set the Athosian cradle into a small rocking motion. And finally he can curl up on the large lonely bed, nothing to cling to but himself, and close his eyes tightly.

He has to stop remembering.

He has to stop remembering.

* * *

The emails with his brother have become much easier and yet are still so hard to write.

But he never tells anything about deaths or shootings or cullings. He never tells him about nightmares and sleeplessness, long hours waiting, of pain, of remembering torture. He’s never told him about Kolya, about being a captive and having his life sucked out of him and then forced back in. He hasn’t written about the Sanctuary, about being cut off from the normal flow of time, about giving birth in a medieval village with only the faint hope left of returning home. He doesn’t write about homesickness, or longing for warms hands or the coldness of misery. He doesn’t tell him he lost a baby just weeks before coming back to Earth, before reuniting with them. He tells nothing of this.

He writes that he is happy, if somewhat bored. That missions are going fine. That all is well. That things are going on routine.

He doesn’t write _Rodney isn’t here and I’m fucking missing him and everything is too silent -_ but maybe Dave can read between the lines.

* * *

When Rodney has been gone from Atlantis for three weeks and five days, John recognizes the signs of upcoming heat and does what he’s done before (sometimes with disastrous consequence) - he ignores it until the last moment.

He doesn’t want to go down to the infirmary and get his hands on some suppressants - he doesn’t want to receive any pitying looks. So eight days before Rodney’s homecoming he holes up in his quarters, drowned in Rodney’s lingering scent, and actually tries to get some paperwork done in attempt to ignore how his heat draws painfully near. Having Marie there and caring for her is a full time job in itself and proves a good distraction, but maybe not good enough (he sees Rodney’s eyes in hers every time, that shimmering blue that means _comfort_ and _safety_ and _home_ ).

* * *

Six days before Rodney’s homecoming he approaches Teyla to have her help out with babysitting Marie for a bit. She is her usual stout calm self, and she smiles gently and assures him it’s fine and that she’ll report his absence to Elizabeth; in the meantime she shall look after his daughter, take a trip to New Athos where she is to visit Halling’s family. It will work out fine, it should work out fine, but John hasn’t missed Rodney this much in - _ever._

(The Sanctuary, the months passing by, the hours becoming meaningless; the weeks without voices, without touches, without a working radio. The days without comfort, without knowing if they would ever again ...)

Riding it out again like this reminds him too much of the past. He’d always been alone then, though, and he’s surprised - a curious mix of relieved and overcome - when Ronon enters the room unannounced. John is lying on his side on the double bed ranting curses in his head, and for a moment so brief it’s almost surreal there’s a surge of fear coming from the bottom of his gut as the large Satedan, who can’t be unaffected by the pheromones echoing off the omega’s skin, steps forward, the door sliding shut silently behind him. (It would be so easy for him to -)

But then Ronon wordlessly kneels on the mattress and lays a strong hand on his back and curls his arms around him, making a living shield. John shudders briefly, heart fighting mind, before relaxing into the embrace.

There are few people in the universe he could ever trust this way. Ronon is strong and fierce and a damned good warrior and it would be so brutally simple for him to... John doesn’t want to picture it, cutting off the thought. Maybe he should feel afraid of the alpha but he doesn’t, because they’re a team, they watch each other’s backs, Ronon is his self-proclaimed guardian and as Ronon holds him now John knowns would do the same if their roles were reversed. And Rodney trusts Ronon too, that Ronon would never lay hands on him, never attempt to take anything from him; that is what makes this safe. Both Teyla and Ronon having tried to explain the concept of guardians on more than one occasion - this old Satedan tradition (or not really Satedan in origin because it exists on many worlds in Pegasus; but Ronon values especially highly, as his people did) - before but it’s still something alien and he doesn’t know about all details, about all layers of trust and devotion because Ronon isn’t a big talker and Teyla, for some reason (maybe she doesn’t know either) refuses to share exactly _why_ the Satedan is so strongly fixed on the idea of keeping an eye on him. On keeping him safe.

Not that John complains. He wouldn’t trade Ronon’s friendship for the world.

The former Runner lingers for the next forty-eight hours, a constant from which he can draw strength and there is no other man or woman on base except Teyla that he could ever let form a protective circle around him like this without protest, without concern nagging at the back of his head. Now there is no need for words.

For the first time in over twenty days, John sleeps without nightmares.

* * *

After being absent from Atlantis for three weeks, five days and eighteen hours, Rodney returns to the city with Mrs Miller via the Daedalus, and Jeannie looks around the gate room with the awe of a woman who less than a month ago didn’t believe in aliens and transportation beams and time travel. Which is expected; John knows the feeling well. She remembers him, of course, and she must be missing her daughter Madison like crazy because she’s delighted when John appears with Marie on his hip; Jeannie looks like she wants to pinch the girl’s cheeks and she frantically apologizes for not bringing a gift, as if they had expected one. John just chuckles and says that they’d never even thought of it and it’s lovely to see her too and he adds, much to his mate’s indignation, “I hope Rodney hasn’t been too much trouble.”

At which Jeannie smiles and says, “Oh, no, don’t worry. But is it really true he destroyed a solar system last year? (I promise I’ll do what I can to stop it from happening this time around.)”

At that, the alpha waves an arm impatiently, glaring at his sister. “It was five sixths and it wasn’t on _purpose_! Won’t you ever drop that?”

She snorts in reply, and John wonders what kinds of discussions have taken place on the Daedalus between them, to cause Rodney’s cheeks to stain with a blush, his eyes flickering guiltily toward his mate and child.

“Okay, so now introductions have been made, let’s go down to the labs. We’re here to work, not chitchat! Come on, to the labs, chop chop.”

She sends her brother an equally impatient, scolding look, and speaks with a tone similar to the one John has to bring forth when Marie is on the verge of eating something haphazardly or when Rodney won't even drink coffee in favour of work. “We’ve only just arrived, Meredith,” Jeannie says and turns to the omega, apologizing again, “It’s good to see you again, John. I’m sorry about my brother’s briskness.”

“We’re used to it, believe me,” John answers, drawing a dry chuckle from Elizabeth who has observed this whole in quite amusement along Zelenka and pretty much everyone in the gate room; the marines and technicians are all too used to the couple’s banter to think nothing of it by now (it’s when they _don’t_ banter that people start to worry).

To be called by first name (even if Jeannie stumbles and blushes when realizing that according to protocol she should address him by rank) is oddly refreshing. Only his team, Carson and Elizabeth call him by that name; his family. And Jeannie is after all his mate’s sister and the kind of woman who seems fond of draping her arms around strangers to comfort them and force-feed them tofurkey and green tea. And, to be honest, the idea of including her in the circle doesn’t seem half-bad, now that she knows about Atlantis (and all that it entails). If nothing else because it riles Rodney up.

At seeing Rodney’s long-suffering impatience (after all, he’s probably been working non-stop for the last few weeks to perfect this idea, to which John is still doubtful, the whole Arcturus disaster still lingering close to his skin), Jeannie relents and follows, but before that Rodney does halt for a minute to promise the omega that he will get back to their quarters in a godly hour, honest, once the machine has been started it’ll all be automatic and they can have a team-family dinner in the mess and play a round of chess or race cars in that abandoned corridor in the North pier. Have a proper mate-mate reunion and everything. Once the machine is set up. Then.

After three weeks of loneliness John has to rein back his own impatience with strained muscles to not just jump Rodney right now and here.

* * *

By the time Rodney returns, John’s heat has passed leaving few traces to be seen. But the alpha notices as they kiss like starving men, the omega’s hand clawed around Rodney’s shoulder, pulling him down, knees spreading to accommodate him.

“You’re different. Your scent.” The alpha’s lips presses against his collarbone, his right hand working on buttons and zippers.

“Yeah,” John responds throatily, biting his lower lip in anticipation as Rodney’s hand works its way under the fabric and in between his thighs, two fingers eagerly pushing inside. “Went into heat couple of days ago. Ended right before you came back.”

But he could be fooling himself about that last part because he’s going crazy as his mate touches him and as Rodney finds and strokes that sweet spot firmly, John arches up and buckles against him. The alpha’s pace picks up at the words, eyes widening, pulse speeding up.

“Fuck. John, I should’ve been here.”

John strokes his neck sympathetically with his thumb, his whole body trembling and a bit difficult to control, a gasp escaping him as Rodney eases into him with a moan. Once the alpha’s settled, the omega manages to add, “Wasn’t that bad. Teyla and Ronon helped.”

At the mention of the alphas in the combination of _heat_ and _help,_ Rodney’s grip grows more possessive. John grins up at him stupidly and, gods, Rodney _really_ is an adorable idiot sometimes. “Not like _that._ Jeez.”

“Thank god, oh, thank god,” Rodney grunts out breathlessly, shifting slightly, fingertips digging into the back of John’s thighs. “I was starting to think you’d gotten tired of me. Like, like I haven’t got enough libido to match your stamina or something. Or I talk too much. Or something. But you’re not tired of me, right? Right?”

It’s never a fair question to ask, but especially not now when Rodney’s hands are resting right there on that spot, so warm and craving and John can’t help but lean into each touch helplessly, and when his thrusts are so damn fierce and precise and his sloppy, needy kisses so damn perfect. The art of making words is starting to slip from his tongue, so in reply John grabs his head and pushes his tongue into his mouth, which does the trick just as well as any verbal admission.

* * *

Like project Arcturus (and John still remembers the yelling all too vividly, his own badly reined anger and Rodney’s wide-eyed panic and the nearly unlimited boost of his ego), things don’t run as smoothly as they should. No stars are removed from the sky, there are no flashes of dangerous light, but it takes less than twenty-four hours before there’s a sign of wrongness.

Instead of exotic particles that can destroy this whole plane of existence crossing over the matter bridge, they get a man claiming to come from another universe.

* * *

“... and so exotic particles that don’t belong in either of our universes are created on your side of the bridge,” Jeannie fills in, tone dark and troubled, and they go on about some physics that John doesn’t quite care to catch at the moment.

The other Rodney apparently was ready to sacrifice himself to save his universe, but unlike his Rodney, who might do so with a lot more screaming involved, he is also very calm and collected. Like he’s expected that this is it, this is the end, he’ll never return and he’s _accepted_ it. He doesn’t seem too keenly panicking as Rodney would’ve, should’ve been, as far as John is aware and it’s eerie, this double element.

(His Rodney would relentlessly keep _fighting_.)

* * *

They begin to compare worlds. Elizabeth is beyond fascinated, recording every word and listening carefully while Rodney (his Rodney) and Jeannie are trying to iron out the numbers.

John listens in through the security tapes, settled above them where he can’t be seen through one-way glass, his daughter pressed to his chest; he’s not sure if he wants to go down there, to get close to that stranger with his lover’s face - the thought is unsettling. Major Lorne stands watch by the doorway, unease written all over his face. (Just another day in Pegasus.)

At least they didn’t get a horde of Wraith or Replicators or other dangerous aliens through the matter bridge. Then again, Rodney can be dangerous (in his own way) and he knows a lot about Atlantis, about its systems, he’s clever in all universes; and they don’t know this one. Cannot trust him.

There are names both familiar and unfamiliar mentioned, connected to a history that doesn’t quite match theirs; people from the other universe who apparently work with Rodney’s team - and he’s the team leader, no less! - and they have met Teyla (but she’s another woman entirely; the foreign Rodney can’t recognize her picture) and they helped the Athosians when first arriving in Pegasus. They’re struggling to fight the Wraith, just like them; but on their side Ford is still alive and well, and Sergeant Bates took over command at Sumner’s sudden death, and they haven’t met Ronon. Rather, their Sateda hasn’t been burned to a crisp yet and they have regular contact with them as trading partners, as allies in war. The other Rodney admits curiously they have never run into any Runner. Perhaps, in their universe, they don’t exist. Perhaps their Wraith are different.

But John’s brow knots into a frown when there is no mention of himself in there. Surely, even if still on meds and whatnot and sneaking past regulations, no one knowing his secrets (or is his gender being kept a secret at all? what burdens does he carry?), the other John Sheppard must exist in Atlantis. Still a Major, maybe, or perhaps even busted down to Captain, a nobody in the shadows. _Surely_ he must exist.

But he gets no answer as the McKays return to the problem at hand, the energy bridge, and begin drawing algorithms on the walls.


	3. Chapter 3

Having another Rodney, so alike and yet not, talking to his Rodney is definitely the weirdest thing John has ever seen. Their voices match, they have the same eyes, the same broad shoulders - but they are so different too. The other Rodney, or _Rod_ as he prefers, has a less tense posture, and he’s practically draped across the cushioned chair while Rodney leans forward, anxiously, making rapid movements with his hands as he speaks. 

From this angle high above them, John catches both of them glancing upward a couple of times, one more than the other. Through the glass he can’t pick up scents, cannot determine just how much like Rodney this Rod is, and he’s a mixture of frustratingly curious and relieved about that. There are some things he isn’t sure he wishes to know.

They seem to be having an interesting conversation, at least.

* * *

Once the man has explained thoroughly his reasons for being here and undergone a full medical exam, revealing that he is indeed from a parallel universe and not a clone or Replicator or some Ancient holographic apparition, the copy of McKay is allowed out of the isolation chamber. Two marines keep guarding him constantly, but the man doesn’t seem all that bothered - then again, he’d arrived carrying a gun in a thigh holster with an unusually natural ease. And, sure, his Rodney can handle a gun pretty well and reload it without hesitation or fumbling, but carrying a weapon around is not his number one choice. This Rodney McKay, with his loop-sided smile at everyone - there are rumours this man even knows how to say both ’thank you’ and ’please’ without being sarcastic - and his nine-mill and leather jacket, is a total stranger, but it’s easy to be fooled. They both got the brains, and with the both of them and Jeannie and Radek working on the issue it shouldn’t take too long to shut down the matter bridge and send the man home. They can’t let him stay here, in the wrong Atlantis.

John wonders what he’s left behind.

Would _his_ Rodney be so willing to cross into another universe without knowing he could ever get home? Would he risk that?

(Frighteningly enough, John knows the answer with crystalline clarity, which is why he cannot bring himself to ask, just like Rodney will never ask him because the alpha already knows.)

* * *

They meet awkwardly on the way to the mess hall.

The guards are there, of course, but Rod isn’t ignoring them rather chatting amiably about this and that and is that a compliment he hears? Sure enough, one of the marines is laughing loudly and thumping the man’s back. Then, as John rounds the corner, Rod comes to an abrupt halt as if not expecting him there, and the marines salute their CO proudly; John tells them to be at ease. Protocol has always been relaxed here; it’s the way he prefers it.

Rod’s eyes travel swiftly between the men and the omega to finally settle on John - they’re just like _his_ Rodney’s eyes, a misty blue full of brilliance, his mind riddled with a thousand theories all at once.

“Hm,” the man says, in an odd tone, one he might use when suddenly faced with an advanced Ancient interface on a backwards planet where people have yet to invent proper plumbing. John raises a sharp inquiring eyebrow and for a moment nearly forgets that this isn’t his Rodney and this man cannot read him like his mate. His scent is a bit off - unmarked, he realizes; this man isn’t mated to him. Or well, some other John Sheppard, he thinks at least. (Or maybe he is, but the other John Sheppard would also be a stranger, his life another’s, and his scent wouldn’t be his own.) Maybe this man is mated to someone else, or single and still pining after Samantha Carter.

(The thought creates a knot in his gut, even if the reaction probably is entirely illogical. His Rodney isn’t this one, his Rodney is faithful and he should have nothing to fear.)

“Colonel Sheppard, isn’t it?” The alpha extends a hand to shake. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Rodney said you were on Atlantis, but frankly I expected - something else.”

Something else? An alpha or beta in uniform, perhaps; or a meek omega with thin shoulders and twitchy hands, pressed up against the walls; or maybe no one at all if there really is no Sheppard in Rod’s Atlantis.

Someone else.

Admittedly curious, John shake his hand and tries to ignore how Rod with daring obviousness gives him a once-over, eyes lingering in places inappropriate in public. _God, don’t let the marines have noticed that_. His grip is strong, hands calloused; Rodney has calloused hands too, worn strong by detailed work and incessant typing on laptops and from firing guns for the past two years, and John quickly draws away when his brain won’t cooperate properly.

“So, you have a Sheppard in your universe?” John asks and wants to add, _Does he fly as well? Has he broken away from the world and hid and do you know he’s omega? Have you found, has he found -_

He doesn’t have the chance to finish the wistful sentence before Rod fills in, eyes still fixed on him. “ _I_ don’t have one,” Rod says, and John really wishes he wouldn’t emphasize it like that because this isn’t for other’s ears to hear, and he suddenly regrets having asked. “But there’s a Dr Sheppard who worked for the SGC a few years back, where he met Colonel Mitchell. Got a bun in the oven pretty quick after that. Since then he’s not on base any longer of course.” And sudden bile rises in John’s throat at the ease of how Rod admits that _of course, of course; Sheppard is a mated omega so of course he's not on duty;_ but he doesn’t let it show. In Rod’s universe some things probably are very different, but others must clearly be similar, like universal laws of physics (the ones that can’t be broken by geniuses even on the best of days.) “Which is a pity. It’s frustrating not to have a strong gene-carried in the city - the tests revealed he’s second after General O’Neill in strength, and I assume that sharing his genes you’re his mirror image in that aspect - you really must be beneficial to the city. But, you know, he’s got kids and all that keeping him busy. Three or four of them now, I think. Never got to know him well.”

Cameron Mitchell. Oh. John can kind of understand, the man isn’t that bad. And hadn’t he kept hiding up till the last minute (an a-bomb, the hives closing in on the city, the last helpless breath before the plunge) that might have been how his future would’ve played out too: hadn’t Rodney been there, someone else would’ve stepped up sooner or later, and there are a fair amount of people who would put an omega’s opinion second. The alpha usually gets what he wants. (Had Mitchell ...? But he can't bring himself to complete the thought.)

And kids. Plural. That meant they’ve not hooked up a short while ago, a one night-stand, an alpha stumbling on an omega in heat; it means something more, and for that Sheppard to be a land-bound PhD (in what? mathematics? aeronautical engineering? something else entirely?); it could mean that he’s never flown, might never even have stepped through a Stargate. It might mean he’s never hid, never taken suppressants for half his life, never put up a fight. All the implications and their domino effects causes something in his ribcage to ache, an itch he cannot quite reach, a fear that cannot truly be quenched.

(Is the other John happily mated or has he been put in a cage?)

Then, as if vaguely realizing he might have insulted somebody, Rod adds with intensity, “You’re not mated to him in this universe, are you?” which could _definitely_ be interpreted as insulting, but for being a man trapped in the wrong universe, even if his hands seems to itch like wanting to grab something, Rod is otherwise quite calm and rational. John decides to give him credit for that. His Rodney says the wrong things to people all the time but he says a thousand right things a day too, so it levels out nicely. Perhaps Rod is much same.

It would help, though, if Rod would stop looking at him like he wants to devour him. Envy never is pretty. (This Rodney too must have his flaws.)

“No,” John says, conveying _well this is awkward_ with a single sound. “Not to Colonel Mitchell.” He meets the man’s gaze hoping to convey the message And it’s none of your business.

“Thought so.” He makes another humming noise (like he would when there's a change in energy output or when complex readings suddenly make sense and he finds the on/off button), nodding to himself. “Lucky guy.”

Before Rod can say any more (the quiet statement gave him the creeps because this _is_ Rodney and Rodney _knows_ ), John says excuses himself and turns on his heel, changing his original heading from the mess to the lab. Hopefully Rodney (his original one) is still there, and they can share some time alone before things get crazier around here.

* * *

_... Got a bun in the oven pretty fast._

Fuck, it was just a stupid thoughtless comment that meant nothing and he shouldn’t catch onto it like that, but he can’t help it, coming to an abrupt halt when the images form right before his eyes; the hallucination machine, his men running haywire in the woods killing themselves - the grenade exploding, the gate breaking down - Teyla staggering, a bullet in the leg, suddenly carrying Lyle Holland’s face - not being able to recognize Rodney, his mate hysterical and his own vision white and filled with blood and faceless enemies - collapsing from pain, spasms emptying him slowly, killing the little life he’d unknowingly carried.

Once the memories start returning he can’t find a way to shut them out, to stop their onslaught and he curls up against a wall, trying to stop thinking about it and feel so pathetic and not remember the pain in his belly and his heart and the doctors’ voices murmuring that he might never have another child and Rodney’s panicked cries -

He might never have a child again.

Maybe he should be glad. He’s the CO of Atlantis, he’s got hundreds of people to look after and Marie is already quite a handful and he’s not sure Rodney wants another kid, he was pretty scared when they first realized they were going to have a daughter and maybe, deep down, Rodney is _relieved_ that (he never liked kids that much anyway did he? or did he?) -

(no silly little dreams should matter that much anyway)

(it shouldn’t have to matter)

“Sheppard.” A warm shadow falls over him, hands on his upper arms safe and steady; he knows those hands, that scent, and relaxes. There’s a pause and he breathes slowly, heavily, and Ronon crouches down next to him, waiting until his breaths even out, until he can manage to look at the big guy’s face and crack a smile, _It’s OK, really, I’m fine._ Then the alpha guides him to his feet, gently, firmly.

Ronon doesn’t ask what’s up or why his eyes are misty, face pale and hands tight-fisted; the Satedan only suggests that they go for a run or spar for a bit or watch a film if he’s more in a mood for that. And John is glad because he can’t take anything else right now, can’t form proper sentences. And Ronon can see that something is up and will let them beat the crap out of each other - with adrenaline rushing hot and fast through his blood, John might be able to forget.

He hopes to forget.

* * *

He wants Rod to leave and Rodney to return and things be normal.

Call it selfish, but he wants Jeannie to stop talking about Marie and Madison (future play-dates and upcoming family dinners) and Kaleb and kids in other universes, because John can’t fucking _forget._

* * *

It takes five nerve-wracking days before they find a plausible solution to the problem.

By then Rod has already slithered under the skin of half the people on base. He laughs with them easily, sitting with them in the mess whenever they aren’t busy working; even Teyla is there with him, listening to his stories, and several lab technicians and a couple of marines, and Elizabeth. And Rodney lingers there in a corner, watching it all, unable to leave but unable to interfere. Lorne is keeping Rod under constant supervision (which doesn’t seem to bother him overly much) and thus he’s there too, listening, constantly listening.

But Ronon doesn’t follow on Rod’s heels for which John is glad; instead the Satedan lingers at the omega’s side - a silent support constantly knowing (and it’s still a little frightening really how _much_ he knows without speaking, without asking) - whenever he can, which is pretty much always. All gate-travel has been suspended for the moment so John sorts out paperwork now he’s got the chance to do so. And Rodney is too busy trying to fix the matter bridge to spend time with him or Marie and his chest hurts at the thought of their unwilling separation.

Ronon refuses to leave him out of sight and John has long since gotten used to the Satedan’s presence so he has no problem nursing his daughter with the alpha in the same room, which is all as well because Ronon probably wouldn’t have left anyway. It’s been nine months; still, John can’t bring himself to do it openly, like in the mess. Which might be for the best anyway because fifty-eight percent of this base is military and more than half of those are alpha. (Though the big guy made it clear long ago that if anyone on base got a problem stumbling on their commanding officer with a baby to his breast, they’d promptly find themselves at the business end of the Satedan’s ray gun. Which John has repeatedly told him _isn’t_ a good idea because it isn’t civilized walking around _threatening_ their own people; but Ronon is adamant.)

Together they avoid Rod as much as possible.

Unfortunately that also means avoiding Rodney. A chasm is slowly growing between them, and John curls up alone and cold on their bed for two nights in a row while his lover is down in that lab, working, restlessly working alongside his sister and foreign copy.

He wonders if Rodney is ever aware of this. If he comprehends. If he feels it as clearly.

(Like those weeks earlier, Ronon and also Teyla take notice and he isn’t even surprised at the door sliding open - Ronon never knocks - at 23:00 hours and there’s warmth next to him then, wrapping around him and he falls asleep feeling at least somewhat comfortable. For two nights thereon John finds Ronon there from dusk to dawn, never wavering, while Rodney catches sleep at odd hours, mostly drinking coffee and eating stimulants to keep his brain going, to figure all this out. He barely seems to notice that his mate isn’t alone - but that he is alone all the same. He barely seems to notice anything but Rod, glaring at him with dark jealous eyes.)

* * *

It takes five days.

They’ve already started planning how to accommodate Rod in the city should the worst happen, shouldn’t it work, should he have to stay. John feels ready to destroy Zero Point Modules to send the man away. _Anything_ to see him off. He needs him gone.

His Rodney is glancing sideways ever so often, envy gleaming in his eyes and John _hates it_ with a passion he hasn’t felt for a long time. Rodney should never have reason to wear such a twisted expression. So what if Rod can make people laugh with and not at him? So what if he appears so cool and sociable and apparently what Rodney suddenly wishes to be (because John can’t imagine him aspiring to be like Rod until now, until he’s confronted with the damned man)? John tries telling him again and again, making him understand - he doesn’t _want_ any other Rodney. A Rodney without sarcasm - a Rodney will distanced eyes - that isn’t _his_ Rodney.

But the idiot just refuses to see. And John feels like chasing shadows; he’s getting nowhere and is losing his patience and hopes, hopes that they’ll settle the matter soon and Rod will be sent away forever. And then he’ll have his own Rodney back as himself and things will be normal. And, maybe, maybe, he can get a chance to fight absurd unwanted tears when he wakes up abruptly during cold nights by nightmares still haunting him (they never quite let go, icy claws digging into his chest).

Five days.

It feels like it’s been weeks. Months. (Forever.)

When the machine finally shuts down and the energy signature dies and Rod is gone, gone, _gone_ , John releases a deep breath he never realized he was holding.

* * *

_Dave,_

_Things have returned to some normalcy here. I say ’some’ because, well, things can get pretty crazy here on the best of days. There was an incident recently which left us all rather -- confused_ (He tries coming up with somewhat logical explanations that can get through the SGC’s censure, but fails utterly). _That’s all I can tell without being fired. It has been sorted now, though, but it drained a lot of power. The science department is working on the issue now. They think it might not have been as bad as we first thought, which is nice to hear, because having power means we can live a little longer._

 _How are things going back there?_ (He can’t write ’home’. It just feels false and wrong to do so.)

About father’s will, for Marie... Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. With the chaos of the last few days I haven’t given it too much though either.

 _Just. Tell him to go ahead, if that’s what he wants. I don’t really care to be honest_ (Money won’t be an issue, because his and Rodney’s significantly bigger pay will last a long, long way, given how little they spend in Pegasus. If it ever gets declassified Rodney will want to have at least one Nobel, too. But that is just an ’if’ and given the paranoia of the IOA, John highly doubts a declassification will come anytime soon.) _We have it sorted. We’ve got insurances for her_ (more than one of a kind. If things go as he wants then, she’ll have a home in Pegasus. There’ll be peace here one day. One day). _Anyway, he needn’t worry about that._

_Tell him that maybe things can be mended. I’m not sure what I’d tell him though, if I were to talk to him. It’s not my forte. Not his either._

_You can show him this, though:_

_Dad, I’m sorry about how it came to be between us, but my dreams just wouldn’t coincidence with any of the plans you had laid out for me. There’s so much I’d miss out if I was someplace else in the world right now. I would not have a daughter, for one. I hope that you one day will accept that. I don’t want anything other from you than that acceptance._

_Your son,_

_John_


	4. Chapter 4

This is the Pegasus Galaxy. And so, by some law written into the logic of this universe, something goes wrong before a week has passed since the last almost-disaster.

* * *

“Everything looks clear,” Carson reports. “You’re fine, Rodney. No need to panic. Your scans and blood tests show nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I swear, something _has_ to be wrong!” Rodney cries, at once, eyes wide and distressed. “A malfunctioning Ancient device in a formerly flooded part of the city just enveloped me in a strange light - _of course_ something’s wrong! I’ll, I’ll start mutating, or something. Or grow invisible. You can still see me, right? _Right_?”

John smiles fondly, glancing at Elizabeth who stands with her arms crossed. “I'll keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you,” Weir says, nodding before taking her leave from the infirmary.

* * *

Other than that one incident, nothing out of the ordinary happens for a day. Rodney retires when the skies have long since darkened, Lantea’s moon sparkling far above the ocean (he mostly returns to their quarters rather late; it’s like usual and so John isn’t overly concerned). He’d been unable to tear himself away from this new, strange machine they’ve found, mostly because he wants to figure out what it does so that he knows if that light was really harmless, or if he’ll start sprouting extra limbs or something in the near future. He _feels_ no different though. Not really, no. As anxious as on most days - there’s a slight tingle in his left knee - though he’s worked even faster than usual today. Like everything’s been sped up; or everything except him has slowed down a fraction of a second per hour; which by the end of the day means he’s far ahead of everyone else. But that’s good; a sign that his genius is still safely intact. Nothing to worry about.

It’s not until he comes back to their rooms when he notices that something is off.

Marie has been fed and changed and comfortably tucked in, and John is sprawled on the bed in boxers and a t-shirt, lazily reading _War and Peace_. Rodney shrugs off his jacket quietly as not to wake her and his mate looks up from the book, skimming over Rodney’s determined face and the datapad still in his hands.

 _He’s been busy then,_ John murmurs (oddly enough his voice is really soft like in a round glass bottle, and why is he talking to him in third person? that makes no sense), and goes on, like unaware that anybody’s listening, _but that expressions means he’s not got anything yet. At least that hopefully means there’s no catastrophe coming just yet. Hopefully_.

And then - Rodney realizes. John hasn’t opened his mouth. Not moved his lips at all except, perhaps, to purse them ever so slightly into what could be the hint of a pout - but _his voice_. He’s pretty sure he didn’t imagine his voice.

The alpha freezes when this comprehension dawns, and it causes John to frown and ask (aloud, lips moving), “Something wrong?” - while simultaneously Rodney is pretty sure he can hear John murmuring (though closer, like a radio without disturbing background noise right next to his ear, warm right inside his head): _don’t let him have caught ill or tampered with something bad that will make ’Lantis explode and now he’s just remembering it - aw, great, there is an explosion coming isn’t there? - my toes are a bit cold, I’d better get a pair of socks -_ And every word layers upon the other tightly, inhumanly fast, like a hundred thoughts that may or may not be complete; there is something else, too. Like warmth and coldness both seeping under his skin: there’s happiness, a thrum of relief, and - something else. Like the afterglow of a large fire that still burns; sorrow - a red thread wrapped around each little word that Rodney can hear in John’s voice in his head.

Wait - what?

“Rodney?” John, still frowning, has now lowered his book, open on page 58 on his lap. “You’re spacing out on me.”

The astrophysicist blinks, now seeing John’s mouth move in accord with the sounds leaving it - not like before. That silent talking. That’s ... worrisome. “Er, yeah, umm, what?”

“You’re very quiet. What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

He’s got to be imagining it. Yes, has to be. But - then he feels it again: the words, jumbled and rushed, much like his own when he’s thinking aloud, making fast calculation when people keeping interrupting.

“No. I. I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. Nothing’s happened.” Hastily he throws the jacket onto one of the pegs near the door and kicks off his shoes, walking over to the wardrobe to get a pair of pyjamas or a t-shirt to sleep in. And all the while, he realizes, that the voice is continuing to invade his head: tinged with worry, now, much greater than before - _No maybe it is all OK and no explosions will occur but I’d better keep an eye up in case there’s an emergency - what if that machine broke earlier? no, he’d be grumbling a lot ’bout it then - I don’t like his silence. I don’t like silence._

And there are other snippets of thoughts as well, like _From the back now his hair is like we’ve just fucked - has it been like that all day? well, damn,_ which causes him to sharply turn his head and look at his mate, who’s silently staring at him. “Really?”

“Uh, what d’you mean ’really’?”

“That thing you just said. About my hair.”

John’s eyes widen slightly. “I, I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I didn’t. You must’ve imagined it.”

Imagined it.

 _The machine, the lab, the light ... just imagined it,_ pulses the thoughts in John’s voice then; _what’s it done to him? I didn’t say anything - the machine. Imagined it. Coincidence - no, chances are too slim - I just thought ... - No, coincidence isn’t logically possible. He looks good though -_

“Uhm, thanks? And I also reckon -”

“Rodney,” the omega says quietly, “I didn’t say anything. Well, not that your hair isn’t -”

“No, hang on. Back up a second. _What_ isn’t logically possible? No - wait. You’re not in my head. That isn’t logically possible, I agree so really you cannot be there and your voice cannot be there, maybe I _am_ imagining stuff and am just lucky guessing though I am very smart so I could just be anticipating whatever you were going to say -”

“You’re hearing me in your head?”

Anticipation starts drumming in his chest suddenly. A world of possibilities opens up for him, when he realizes: oh god, he can hear what John’s thinking. He can hear. This needs testing and confirmation. “Think - think of a planet. Randomly. Don’t say anything, just - think of it, okay?”

Looking a mix between concerned and taken aback, John does keep quiet but Rodney hears nothing of that: his head is full of John’s voice anyways, and he sees, sees colours as well, like he was the one thinking about them. And for a moment he can see a forest line, dark under a thin ray of foreign moonlight, and a settlement gathered around a warm hearth.

“New Athos. You’re thinking about New Athos. Now how would I possibly have known that?”

“Okay,” John says slowly, cautious eyes fixed on his lover as he casts the covers aside and stands up. One hand grabs for his radio, the other for a pair of pants. “I think we’d better get you to the infirmary.”

* * *

“There’s an increase in synaptic activities; much more than what is normal for a human,” Carson reports once another scan has been done, and Rodney has now been confined to a hospital bed, much to his annoyance. At least the food is good.

“See, I told you! That machine did something to me. Now, I don’t see really what the downside is. I’m smart and can read people’s thought, so? Maybe I get more superhuman powers as time wears on - see, it was a useful machine, for once! Yes - I’m fine! No, I don’t feel weird, Carson, and what -”

“ _Rodney_!” John groans. This whole thing is giving him a headache. Out of all weird shit that could possibly happen ... Usually Rodney can speed on and on but this, this is new. It’s like he doesn’t even need to breathe between words, not to mention he doesn’t pause because he can hear exactly what they mean to say before they manage to open their mouths. “You can’t just keep intruding on -”

“I’m not invading anything, just skimming the edges of...! Oh, right. Right. Maybe. Somewhat. But - what d’you mean you wish you had Ronon’s gun so you could stun me?! That is so not fair.”

Truly, John hadn’t meant for him to hear that thought. (Well ... possibly.)

As if trying to amend such a threat, Rodney goes on, “You know, As of late I’ve been having ideas that even I shouldn’t have thought of. Look, I can easily reverse-engineer Ronon’s gun for you, and any other stuff you want, and make it three times better. I’m getting smarter by the hour. So you don’t have to shoot me, I mean, for reading people’s minds. Plus I can figure out -”

John sends him a look. “Does super-ego count as a power?”

“I think you should rest,” Carson interrupts sternly, “and I'm going to keep you here for supervision during the night.”

“Oh, come on! Everything’s _fine_. I’ve got some superhuman powers, that’s all.”

* * *

But everything is not fine.

It takes less than a day for everything to escalate.

* * *

By the next sunrise, though not being much of a morning person usually, Rodney is wide-awake and alert and working on a dozen computers all at once. When John enters the lab, freshly-showered after his morning run with Ronon, he finds that most of said computers are typing by themselves and there are equations on the walls and Rodney’s talking to himself, going from board to board in a frenzy. He seems unaware that he’s having company; neither the omega pushing a pram before him nor Radek’s quiet staring causes him to react. John glances at the Czech, who shrugs helplessly.

“He’s been like this the past four hours,” Radek explains quietly. “Not even having coffee breaks. Dr Weir asked me to report anything unusual, and, well ...” Self-working computers and levitating objects are rather unusual, even for Pegasus.

“Right,” John nods at him, and the Czech gives him a grateful smile in return before walking out the door. He turns toward Rodney, who’s reading something with a hunched back, a frown marring his brow. “Hey, what’s -”

“- all this? Oh, just. Inventing a new sort of math. There’s like twenty different simulations I’d like to be running but the computers are having difficulties keeping up with me. Funny thing is I could make them ten times faster but I haven’t actually paused to do it yet. Oh! I’ve worked out a prototype hyperdrive for the puddlejumpers, uploading the schematics onto the database right now. And here, take this.” The alpha turns to him with an USB in hand, pushing it into one of John’s pockets before the omega can react or protest. “I’ve figured out how to strengthen Daedalus’ shields. You can send this to Caldwell, I’m sure Hermiod can implement it. Maybe the Colonel will start liking me better then. And yes, I’m fine. I’m trying not to listen too much to people’s thoughts, it gets tiresome pretty quick but, yes, I’m still hearing you, your voice is rather soothing. Though there’s this instance when -”

John wonders if the man’s forgotten how to breathe. “Rodney...”

“Yes, yes, I’m breathing, not to worry. Right now I’m just trying to make our power grid more efficient - I’m going to head down to the Chair later and implement ... _What_?”

“Rodney, _calm down_.” He settles down the overflowing cup of coffee he’d brought on the nearest flat surface. He doesn’t manage to speak up, again, because Rodney’s inside his head and it’s both creepy and touching; without words he just looks at his mate, wondering how much crazier this is going to get, what side-effects might show up and seriously can’t he pause for a bit and head down for breakfast with him?

Rodney latches onto that last bit with a smile. “Food! Food sounds great. Got to feed the genius. Come on, let’s go.” And then he just sends a look at the pram and it starts moving forward without a hand pushing it, the movement gentle and controlled and not disturbing Marie the least. In fact, she seems amused by it, as if aware that it should be physically impossible. One hand clenched around his cup of coffee and the other just waving the pram along, Rodney walks out the lab still talking about his newfound discoveries with his super-brain. John, uncertain how freaked out he’s meant to be, falls into step with him.

 _Still not breathing,_ John reminds him quietly and Rodney does actually halt for a moment (approximately two point eight seconds) to do just that - before launching into a vivid explanation why light behaves both as particles and waves.

Right.

* * *

Maybe it’s not so bad. Rodney’s super smart, and apparently he can stop reading people’s minds on his own. Although his ego surely doesn’t need any more brushing up. Maybe it’s not so bad, after all. Maybe he can figure out once and for all how to defeat the Wraith and they’ll have peace.

But good things just don’t happen without twisting to stab them in the back.

* * *

Rodney has commandeered the Chair and is sitting there oblivious to the blinking lights when Elizabeth finishes translating the texts regarding the malfunctioning machine and calls John to her office.

The news makes him go pale and cold. They rush to the Chair room, and Rodney, intimately aware of his mate’s thoughts, sits up at once to stare wide-eyed at him, hands clenching the darkened armrests.

“What do you mean I’m going to die?!”

Silence falls over the room.

Elizabeth exhales slowly. “Rodney, I translated the text -”

“- and it states the machine altered my DNA so I can evolve to the point of ascending. Only, there’s something else, a mental component, not just physical advancements. And, and if I don’t ascend it’ll _kill me?!_ What kind of crap machine is that? Oh god, I _knew_ it was too good to be true! It was just another in the long line of the Ancients’ abysmal _failures_! I’m, I’m a dead man. Oh god, I’m a dead man.”

The omega is given no chance to open his mouth; John takes a step forward, trying to soothe him, but he has no word and his chest is also tight with fear at this information and Elizabeth has found no mentions of solutions.

One of the scientists cries out about power surges and instabilities and Rodney, looking around panicked and sweaty for a moment, stumbles back in the Chair. “R-right. Right. I’ll finish this.”

* * *

Then the alarms begin blearing over the radio.

* * *

Major Lorne is hovering nearby, as close as he’s allowed while the doctors swarm around Radek’s still body; Carson is crying out orders while at the same time doing CPR. There is chaos and the air thick with worry and fear and panic and confusion, and this is when Rodney rushes inside the infirmary, John and Elizabeth on his heels. He takes it all in in less than point three seconds and his brain is working at a pace he’s not used to before but now, somehow, it’s normal - and he makes a decision in a split second, pushing everyone else aside.

“Rodney!” Carson shouts, dismayed. “What you think you’re -”

He doesn’t listen. Just lays his hands on the wounded omega’s chest and _focuses -_

* * *

Some time later - his hands still trembling; he stares at them not quite comprehending (on some emotional level, he supposes, because on a logical level he can very well comprehend what he’s just done) - Lorne approaches to thank him, and Elizabeth too, both of them astounded; Carson is at loss for words. And Rodney doesn’t quite know what to do or say and tries to flee the room, just for a minute - to think. To think - he needs to think. Some fresh air.

John finds him on one of their favourite balconies by the North pier half an hour later. “Hey,” the omega murmurs, stepping up to his side. “You all right?”

“Yes. No. Probably not.”

“Thought you’d want to know, Radek’s going to be okay.” There are not even scars.

“Good. That’s, that’s good. But - John, I’m a dead man. I can’t ascend. I don’t want to ascend - I, I don’t ...” Don’t know how. Well, _technically_ he knows. But mentally? And he isn’t sure he wants to. There are so many rules for ascended he can’t just step back, take a form in living flesh again and go on with his life. No interference and all that.

Or - could he? Is there a reverse button?

If he ascends, he’ll leave John and Marie behind. And if he dies there is absolutely no going back. Out of the two, the former leaves the best chance for survival, because ascension is survival. But. He’s not sure he wants to. If he’s ready to, even if he could.

“Rodney -”

He gives him a helpless look. “I just don’t know what to do, John,” he admits, gripping the railing tightly, feeling almost sick. “I’m the smartest man in two galaxies and right now _I don’t know what to do_.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Let go of your burden,_ Elizabeth tells him gently. _Try to let go of anything that makes you feel shamed. And then you can focus_ all _of your energy on ascending._

* * *

Letting go. Releasing his burden. Rodney has no idea how. He doesn’t want to grasp it. He could have handled remaining super-smart with telekinetic powers and the ability to feel his lover’s thoughts. In fact that would have been wonderful. It could have helped against the Wraith and all other bad guys out there - but _ascension._

He’s not fond of that thought either. To join that club means leaving this one, it means rules, it means non-interference. And that’s not something he is good at at all.

He just doesn’t know how _not_ to be Rodney McKay.

* * *

And John doesn’t say anything aloud but he doesn’t need to, because Rodney can feel his fears and his hopes and it causes his breath to catch in his throat. Like someone’s stomping on his chest with heavy iron boots.

The omega has never been very forthcoming with emotions, with fears or angers or even joys. And now, now Rodney is aware each time he’s close to laughing or close to tears, and he’s suddenly feeling this constant coldness, a grief that is low-key but never-ending and sometimes it fluctuates. The peaks are painful and sudden and happens when John’s eating in the mess or overseeing the marines’ training or when he’s caring for their daughter (and those are the harshest reminders for some reason. For some reason, Rodney can then always see with John’s inner eyes the hallucinations machine and a desert that wasn’t real and a helicopter exploding) (he can remember a wormhole ending before all his through; the whisper of _There was nothing left)._

Oh god _,_ their daughter.

If he ascends, (if he follows all the rules), he’ll have to leave their daughter behind. He’ll have to leave John behind. There’ll not even be a body left to bury.

* * *

Measuring it is difficult. Well, not the measuring. But concentrating when knowing that the machines are surveiling his brain activity so that he may take the next step forward, or up, or wherever. He just can’t relax. Close his eyes. Breathe. The infirmary is too noisy and white and when he tries relaxing, the voices of everyone around keep slipping inside his head again. Shutting them out takes effort.  
But he has to shut them out.

* * *

Teyla knows about meditation. But he is distracted and sore from sitting on the floor in that awkward position for too long and nothing happens. He will never reach point three hertz, Rodney despairs - and then it’ll be too late. He only has a couple of days left. Then his body _will_ shut down. There is no time.

There is too little time.

* * *

John had spent four months in the Sanctuary, surrounded by people trying to ascend. “Perhaps,” he says thoughtfully, “I picked something up.”

But John hadn’t tried to ascend. He had fought back and wrestled out of their hands; he hadn’t subdued and he hadn’t meditated. He had tried not to give up, holding onto the faint hope that help was coming and that he would see Atlantis again. John had never strived to ascend.

(In the shadows of the enclosed ridge, the stars wheeling overhead all fake and dead, he had laboured to bring forth their daughter.)

* * *

They try anyway. Rodney lies flat on his back on the floor of their quarters, candles flickering and the electrical lights dimmed, and closes his eyes. breathing. Slowly numbing away. John murmurs softly, it’s just nonsense - _think about Ferris Wheels_ and _think about things that make you happy_ and _think about all things that make you anxious._

Rodney _can’t._ He glances up at him, despairing. “This is useless. I don’t know how not to be _me_.”

And John looks angry and sad and determined, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m not going to let you die, Rodney. You are not giving up. Now, _focus_.”

* * *

He doesn’t get to see the numbers on the screen before he collapses, pain spreading through his head and his limbs and he grows heavy and weak, everything shutting down like old machines that hasn’t been oiled for decades and have been forgotten in an attic somewhere. Like a failed experiment.

And he hears John crying out above him, _Rodney! Rodney! no! listen to me! don’t you dare give up! don’t you dare -_

* * *

Then: the blinking lights of the infirmary.

He has shut out all the voices now, all except one. One he cannot let go yet. And now it’s whispering (a prayer, a mantra) - _Whatever you do, don’t die, Rodney. Whatever you do, don’t die._

* * *

The machinery is beeping around them. It thinks he’s dying. Perhaps he is. He shouldn’t be able to be awake, even, hadn’t he been genetically altered. But though he is aware, he cannot move without extreme fatigue, pain, difficulty. They’re gathered around his bed, his team. Family. He hasn’t had a family until Atlantis. Rather nice. And he tries to smile and tell them It will work out, I am a genius after all, but his lips won’t move.

Elizabeth and Carson are talking quietly, he doesn’t care now about what. Teyla. Ronon. They stand on each of John’s side as the omega sits on the edge of the bed, thigh bumping Rodney’s side but the alpha cannot feel it. His nerves are losing function. Failed graphs. He has a hundred clever notions, last revelations, bright in their clarity, but no way to convey them. Marie is in the omega’s lap, the girl too little to understand what’s going on, why everyone is subdued, why her father lies there without moving. He tries talking again, but no one can hear him - he can hear them, but he lies here mute. His brain just cannot keep his body going any longer.

Then John grasps his hand tightly, since he cannot lift it on his own, and guides it to their daughter’s cheek.

If it doesn’t work. But it will. John has adamantly told him, over and over: _You have to survive. You mustn’t die._

At some point now, he vaguely realizes, the others have backed away. To give them a last moment together. And he wants to yell at them that they are morons and he’ll fix this. John doesn’t move. Just presses the alpha’s hand against his own cheek now that no one is watching, no one judging. Like they were in their quarters, safe and secret, where no one can see. The skin beneath his fingertips is warm and stubbled because John has forgotten to sleep and shave and looking after himself for the last few days. Stubbornly, so stubbornly, relentlessly, he’s looked after Rodney. Kept telling him _You got to live._

Just the fraction of a percent to go until his brain no longer can cope, Rodney focuses his gaze on him, trying to make him hear (just like he has heard the voices of everyone in Atlantis) - _John. Listen._

John stares at him in shock. _Rodney? Oh god. Rodney._ \- and then, _Rodney, I can’t lose you. You can’t die. I’m **ordering you** to live._

 _It works, you can hear!_ the alpha exclaims and, elated, relieved, goes on, _I’ll figure it out. It cannot be that hard, can it? Just - wait for me, OK?_

He hears John murmur, _You will return._ It isn’t a question.

_Tell Marie I - that I’ll just be gone for a little bit. I’ll be back in no time. I’ll be back in no time at all._

* * *

They never leave anyone behind.

(John has made them all loyally swear it: _Never leave anyone behind_.)

* * *

The trail of white dust rises and quickly fades

and then

there is nothing.


End file.
